


Playtime

by Fyre



Series: Ne'er So Fair [3]
Category: Bad Education (UK TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:02:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stephen's parents were away, and while the cat's away, the mice will play.</p><p>(Set the weekend after Never Fall)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playtime

Stephen was as giddy as a schoolboy.

Well, he was a schoolboy, and he was usually quite giddy anyway, but this was a special occasion.

His parents were off to Birmingham to his aunt Bertha’s seventy-sixth or something, and since it was on a weekday, they were going to make a proper trip of it, since his dad rarely had time to visit his family. And they trusted Stephen to stay at home alone for the five days they would be away.

He spun around, checking every bit of his bedroom was all right.

He’d spent the night before, tidying like a mad thing, which he knew was ridiculous. His room was always neat anyway, apart from the dance shoes and copies of The Stage that were lying everywhere. Still, he wanted to make an effort, and the room almost shone.

The rest of the house was all right as well, but he had plans in the bedroom. Plans that made the stupid big grin hurt his cheeks.

Everything was ready: condoms, lube, a bottle of Frankie’s favourite cider.

Never let it be said he wasn’t prepared.

He skipped back down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

He was arranging the cushions on the sofa for the fifth time when the doorbell went, and his stomach did a stupid nervous little flip. He paused to check himself in the mirror, not surprised that he looked pinker than usual, then ran to the door, pulling it open.

He had his hoodie on, the hood pulled up against the rain, and held out one of the blue plastic bags from the corner shop. 

“Got ya some of your poncy wine,” he said with a tentative smile.

Stephen reached out the door and grabbed him by the front of his hoodie, dragging into the house and into a kiss. He slammed the door and had Frankie pressed up against it, his hands pushing Grayson’s hood down, his fingers raking through Frankie’s short hair.

Frankie drew back, blinking. “Fuck me…”

Stephen grinned at him. “That’s the plan,” he purred. He kissed Frank’s lips - still parted in surprise - and smiled. “And hi, babes.”

Frankie flushed from his collar to the tips of his ears. “You ain’t shy, are ya?” he said, his voice gruffer, and Stephen almost giggled. Poor Frankie, so out of his depth in a new and exciting sexcapade. 

“I didn’t invite you around to see my mum’s china collection,” Stephen said, grinning. “You up for it?”

Frankie’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and he nodded. “God, yeah,” he whispered hoarsely.

Stephen kissed him again, lightly. “Come up, yeah?” he said, taking Frank’s free hand.

Frank nodded, ducking his head, his fingers curling around Stephen’s, and Stephen couldn’t help wanting to grab him and hug him for being so sweet and innocent, especially since everyone knew he was big bad Grayson.

For as long as there’d been Grayson, there were rumours of him shagging any girl in the years beneath him, and get her knocked up first time. According to the whispers, Frank Grayson had a bastard army that could fill Wembley. 

Stephen led him up the stairs to his room, shoving the door wide open. “Don’t you dare even think about laughing,” he warned, tugging Frank into the room behind him. 

He didn’t even mind if Frank did laugh, because God knew he was sometimes a bit of a stereotype, with his picture of Liza in Cabaret on the wall and his posters from his favourite musicals in frames, and everything. 

It wasn’t even night or anything, so there was no hiding it: all sunlit and warm and bright.

Frank looked around. “Can tell it’s yours,” he said, and something that could have been an insult from anyone else was such a simple compliment coming from him. He looked back at Stephen. “Fits.”

Stephen gazed at him, then took the wine and set it on top of his chest of drawers. Then, he returned to Frank, and reached for the zip of his hoodie. He met Frank’s eyes, holding his gaze, and he heard Frank’s breath catch as he drew the zip down.

“You want me to stop or you change your mind or anything,” he said softly, “you let me know, yeah?”

Frank nodded, swallowing hard, but he brought up his hand to touch Stephen’s cheek. “I ain’t a fucking coward,” he whispered.

“Never said you were,” Stephen murmured against his lips, as he slipped his hands under Grayson’s hoodie and ran them down his sides. He darted his tongue against Frank’s lips, and felt Frank’s fingers splaying on the back of his head, as he opened his mouth to the kiss.

One sleeve at a time, he pushed Frank’s hoodie down, off, away, and his fingers skimmed along the newly-bared flesh. Only arms, but it was more than they’d got to in school uniform. Frank’s hands were trembling against Stephen’s shoulder, against his chest, and Stephen ran his palms slowly up and down Frank’s forearms.

“S’all right,” he murmured. 

Frank looked down at Stephen’s hands, then nodded, tugging at Stephen’s tracksuit top. Stephen’s eyes shone as he spread his arms by his sides and let it slide down, landing on the floor with barely a sound. His arms were bare from the shoulder, and Grayson made a sharp sound, his hands leaping to run from the very top of Stephen’s arms, all the way down to clasp his fingers, his touch as light as a feather.

“How the fuck d’you look like this?” he asked, the awe in his voice turning Stephen to jelly. He turned over his hands, Stephen’s resting lightly in his. “Jesus… if everyone just fucking looked at you…”

Stephen couldn’t keep from kissing him again, his hands tangling briefly with Frank’s, before pulling away. He grabbed his vest and pulled it clean over his head, because if his arms were going to make Frank all poetic, he was bloody sure he wanted to know what his boyfriend thought about his fab abs.

Silence was even better than the swearing. 

Frank looked him slowly up and down, then stepped towards him.

Stephen stepped back, grinning. It was like a tango, but only he knew the steps, so he had to lead, and Frank… Frank followed, until the back of Stephen’s legs hit the bed, and Frank caught him around the waist, pulling him into a kiss.

“Like what you see?” Stephen murmured, as Frank’s kisses trailed off down to his neck. The hand against his back dragged down, and he felt Frank’s teeth against his skin. It made him shiver, and he grabbed at Frank’s shirt, pushing his hands up under it, pushing it up.

Frank lifted his eyes to him. “You are a fuckin’ wet dream waiting to happen, you dickwad,” he growled.

Stephen bit his lip. “I know,” he said, giggling. He pushed at Frank’s shirt. “Fair’s fair, babes.”

Frank went still for a second, then stepped back and pulled his t-shirt up over his head and threw it to one side, putting his hands on his hips, his expression daring Stephen to laugh at him, the fact he wasn’t as toned, as lean, or anything like Stephen at all. 

Stephen glanced down, then back up at Frank’s eyes. He didn’t comment on the bruises on one side of Frank’s ribs, or scars that looked like knife wounds. “Better,” he said, holding out a hand, which Frank took at once.

Stephen yanked, pulling him off-balance, and they both tipped down onto the bed. Frank ended up sprawled over him, his free hand braced beside Stephen’s shoulder on the sheets, his face close to his, their chests pressed so close together, that Stephen could feel their heartbeats, all syncopated. And chests weren’t the only things pressing close.

A roll of the hips was all it took to make Frank groan like he was in pain, green eyes squeezing closed.

Stephen spread his hand on Frank’s bare back, dragging it down, and tilted his head to press his mouth to Frank’s throat. Frank buried his face in Stephen’s shoulder, and shuddered so violently Stephen almost thought he’d hurt him.

“You keep touchin’,” he panted out, “and we’ll be done before we get our fuckin’ clothes off.”

Stephen giggled, sucking lightly on Frank’s earlobe. “We have all day, babes,” he purred. “I could just lie here and wriggle and see how much you like that.”

Frank lifted his head to look down at Stephen, his eyes dark and stormy. “I like it,” he said hoarsely, his own hips pressing down against Stephen’s. “A lot.”

Stephen pulled Frank’s mouth down on his, darting his tongue against Frank’s, and rolled his hips, his body curving up, then away, then up against Frank’s. Frank squeezed his other hand and groaned like he was dying, his own hips meeting Stephen’s with a rhythm of their own.

He was the one who broke the kiss with a sharp, explosive gasp, and his hips stuttered against Stephen’s. “Shit!”

Stephen widened his eyes innocently, biting his lip to keep his giggles in.

Frank stared at him, flushed, panting. “You’re a fuckin’ twat,” he rasped.

Stephen gave another little squirm, squeezing Frank’s hips between his knees. “And now, your boxers are damp, you’ll just have to take them off, won’t you?” he said innocently.

Frank closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath, then pushed himself back and up, on his knees. “Ain’t wearing any,” he said, looking down at the front of his trackies. He raised his eyes to Stephen. “Dick.”

Stephen propped himself up on his elbows, lips twitching. “Well, that just means I’ll need to put those in the wash, and you’ll have to stay long enough for them to dry.”

Frank looked at him in surprise. “Yeah?”

Stephen shoved himself up into a sitting position, his legs still splayed on either side of Frank’s hips. “I have plans for us, babes,” he purred, leaning up and kissing Frank lightly. “Get them off.”

Frank shoved himself back off the edge of the bed, and lifted one foot, then the other, to unlace his boots. Stephen idly stroked himself through his own trousers, watching him. He wasn’t surprised that Grayson was taking his time. For all he’d gone down on Stephen, and Stephen had given him a couple of hand jobs, Stephen had never even seen his cock. 

Getting naked with another guy was always awkward the first time. Size issues, for one thing.

To make it easier, Stephen rolled across the bed and sat with his back to Frank and poured some cider into his dad’s novelty beer mug.

“I’ve got a takeaway menu or two for later,” he said conversationally. “D’you like Thai? Or Chinese?”

“Could go a Chinese,” Frank said quietly. 

Stephen felt the bed shift as Frank sat down on the end of it. He smiled slightly. “You can get under the covers if you want, babes,” he said, screwing the bottle lid back on. “S’a bit cold out.”

He wasn’t surprised, when he got up, to see Frank had done just that, covered to his middle. His knees were tenting up the sheets, and he had his hands propped on top of them, a self-conscious look on his face.

Stephen leaned over the bed, offering him the mug, and a small, cautious smile returned to Frank’s face. Stephen patted his foot through the covers. “Stay there, yeah? I’ll go and chuck your trackies in the washing machine.”

Frank nodded, wrapping his hands around the mug.

It didn’t take more than a minute to get downstairs and put the washing machine on. Still, Stephen waited in the kitchen a couple of minutes, to give Frank a chance to breathe, and to have a drink. It wouldn’t hurt not to push.

He could normally run up and down the stairs without making a sound, but this time, he pattered all the way up, almost stamping on every single step, in case Frank wanted to hide himself.

Stephen pushed the door open, and stopped dead, his mouth going bone dry.

Frank, it seemed, got braver with half a pint of cider in him.

He was lying on top of the sheets, on his stomach, his chin propped on his folded arms, facing away from the door. And he was stark bollocking naked. 

It wasn’t like he was the fittest bloke around, but the way his arse curved down into his back was something special. His back was almost as pale as the sheets, with freckles all over his shoulders, and more of those faded old scars.

He wasn’t a pretty boy or anything like the boys at the theatre camps.

He was broader, rougher, sharper, more worn, and it was… exciting.

Stephen must have stood and stared for a bit too long, because Frankie tilted his head and looked back at him through his lashes. Colour spread down across Frank’s bare shoulders, and oh my god, he almost blushed all over.

“All right?” he muttered, turning his face away.

Stephen padded back across the floor, and sat down on the very end of the bed. Okay, before, he’d wanted to have a shag for fun, because he’d been having a good time with Frank, but now? Now, he wanted to shag Grayson because he wanted to.

“Yeah,” he said, his voice surprising him with how much it had dropped. He reached out and traced his fingers along the back of Frank’s calf. “Can I…?”

He saw the way Frank’s fingers flexed again his upper arms. “I want you to,” Frank said quietly, almost too quietly to be heard. “C’n’you…” He took an unsteady breath, then spoke up a little louder. “I want you to do gay stuff with me. Show me how, yeah?”

Stephen bit his lower lip. He splayed his hand, spreading it on Frank’s calf and sliding it upwards slowly. “Trust me, babes,” he whispered, crawling onto the bed. “That’s not going to be a problem.” He leaned down, propping himself on his forearm, and pressed a kiss to Frank’s shoulder. “Anything you want me to stop, you just let me know, okay?”

Frank nodded, pressing his face into his forearms.

Stephen kissed his shoulder again, softly, and brushed his other hand down Frank’s back, unsurprised that he was rigid with tension. He nuzzled Frank’s ear. “No one told me Frankie Grayson had an arse like a peach,” he murmured.

“Poof.” It was muttered somewhere in the folds of Frank’s arms, but Stephen could hear the smile in his voice.

He took it was encouragement, and moved, kneeling over Frank’s bare thighs, and leaned forward, splaying both hands on Frank’s sides and leaning down to kiss, lick and nibble his way down that freckled expanse of back.

He should have tried to avoid the scars, but he couldn’t help it. There was one just below Frank’s right shoulder blade, and the texture against his tongue made him shiver. Frank shuddered too, his thighs tensing under Stephen’s.

“Bad?” Stephen whispered.

Frank shook his head, so Stephen bit it. Sharp enough to make Frank jerk beneath him, but gentle enough not to hurt.

“Christ!” Frank yelped.

Stephen soothed the bite with a lick, then moved down, dragging his nails the length of Frank’s back, making him arch like a cat. It was like no one had ever touched him just to make him squirm, and Stephen liked it. He liked the shades of pink Frankie was turning. He liked the way his skin went pale under the press of Stephen’s nails, then pink, then red. He liked the way Frank’s fingers were biting into his own arms.

When he slid down just a little further, his fingers curling under Frank’s hips, and he ran his tongue along the crease of Frank’s arse, he almost expected swearing and shouting. Instead, Frank’s head jerked up and he took a shuddering breath.

“Stephen?”

Stephen lifted his head at once. Frank didn’t use his name, except to get his attention. “Yeah, Frankie?” he said softly, thumbs moving in comforting circles on Frank’s sides.

“D’you… d’you wanna fuck me?”

Stephen’s hands tightened on Frank’s hips, and he lowered his head, pressing a kiss to the base of Frank’s back. He hadn’t shagged many people, but every one of them wanted to be on top. But here was Frankie Grayson, biggest, butchest bloke he knew…

“God, yes,” he whispered. “You want me to, babes?”

Frank looked back at him, then nodded. “Trust you.”

Stephen leaned back down over him, craning his neck to claim a kiss. “Anything you want, Frankie,” he whispered. “Now?”

Frank pushed himself up on his arms, his back to Stephen’s chest. “Yeah,” he replied, just as quietly.

Stephen tilted his head down to kiss him again, the slipped an arm under Frank’s chest, rolling them both onto their sides. 

They were plastered together, legs tangled, mouths moving against one another, and Stephen spread his hand on Frank’s chest. It was ridiculous how hard he was already, and Frank’d have to be completely braindead not to notice the pressure against his arse.

The condoms were on the bedside cabinet.

He wanted to get one, but he also just wanted to keep on kissing Frank and stroking a hand gradually lower and lower down his chest and belly.

Frank’s lips twitched against his. “You still dressed, Glee?” he whispered. “Ain’t fuckin’ me wearing Adidas.”

Stephen nipped on his lower lip. “My bed,” he replied, pressing his cock to Frankie’s arse. “I’ll wear what I want.”

Frank reached back blindly and tugged at the trackies. “Off.”

Stephen swatted his chest. “Bitch!” he said, but he couldn’t keep the stupid smile off his face. He rolled halfway onto his back and freed one hand to shove the trackies and his boxers down, kicking them off onto the floor. He rolled back at once, and pressed himself against Grayson’s back, and felt another of those shivers run the length of Frankie’s body. “Better?”

Frank slanted a look that was part-nervous, part-playful at him. “You’ll do.”

Stephen kissed him again, his breath coming in shorter pants as he rolled his hips and his cock stroked against the crease of Grayson’s arse. “What colour d’you want?” he asked breathlessly. “Johnnies.”

Frank’s heavily-lidded eyes opened a little wider. “The fuck do I care?” he said, a crooked grin on his lips. “I ain’t gonna see it.”

Stephen stared at him, then buried his face in Grayson’s shoulder, giggling helplessly.

Frank’s chest shook against his too, and he smacked Stephen on the thigh. “Tit.”

Stephen bit him lightly on the shoulder. “D’you want a fuck or not?”

Frank’s hand remained on Stephen’s thigh, and he squeezed lightly. “Yeah.”

Stephen leaned over to the cabinet, groping his way across the surface. He came back with a handful of condoms, and - thank God - at least one of the tubes of lube. He fumbled with the rubber first, grateful he’d long-since learned the noble-art of opening one-handed. Only when it was on did he drop a kiss on Frank’s shoulder, and offered him the tube. “You open that for me, babes?”

Frank flipped the cap. “The fuck?”

“It’s lube…” Stephen began.

“I know that, muppet,” Frank snorted. “Flowery?”

Stephen sniffed haughtily and opened his hand under the tube. “It was that or strawberry.”

Frank squeezed it onto Stephen’s waiting fingers, then tossed the tube aside. His fingers wrapped around Stephen’s wrist, and he held it, just for a moment.

“We can stop if you want,” Stephen murmured, nuzzling his shoulder.

Frank shook his head, running his hand along Stephen’s forearm. “You chicken, Carmichael?” he said, his voice only shaking a little.

Stephen hesitated, then confided in a whisper, “I’ve never done this before. Not this way.”

“An’ I have?”

Stephen kissed the side of his neck. “True,” he agreed. “Yeah?”

Frank lifted his hand from Stephen’s wrist. “Yeah.”

Stephen buried his face in Frank’s neck as he curled his fingers, smearing the lube all over them. Frank’s breathing was coming quicker, his chest rising and falling against Stephen’s, as Stephen dragged his fingertips along the crease of Frankie’s backside.

Slowly, he pressed a finger into Frank’s body, then withdrew just as slowly, then another, slowly twisting and curling them. Frank’s whole body jerked against his, a tight, stifled sound catching in his throat. Stephen hesitated, uncertain.

“Frank…”

“Don’t fuckin’ ask,” Frank whispered, pressing back against Stephen’s hand, sinking Stephen’s fingers deeper, the heat of his body making Stephen’s heart pound in his ears. “Christ, Carmichael, just fuck me.”

Stephen kissed Frank’s throat as he withdrew his hand, wrapping his hand around his cock to smear lube all over it. It throbbed against his palm, and god, it was going to be embarrassing, if he got off as quickly as he’d got Frank off.

He eased his hips closer, pressing his cock to Frank’s arse. He didn’t know which of them was breathing harder. Didn’t matter. He wrapped his arm around Frank’s chest as he slowly pushed himself into Frank’s body, his forehead pressed against Frank’s shoulder. Frank’s back arched, his chest pressing against Stephen’s arm, and he released a single breath in a sharp gasp.

“Fuck…”

Stephen’s fingers curled, pressing hard to Frank’s chest, and he nodded mutely. It was all he could do to remember to move his hips, Frank’s body tight and hot around him. Oh God, it was not at all like he’d expected. He slid his hand down, trembling, to close around Frank’s cock, his hips moving of their own accord, and he lifted his head to look down at him.

Frank’s eyes were pressed shut, his lips parted, small, hungry sounds escaping him with every unsteady thrust of Stephen’s prick. He tilted his head, like he knew Stephen was watching, and Stephen clumsily kissed the corner of his mouth, trying to find a pace, a rhythm, between his hand and his hips and Frank and everything.

Would have been easier on top or under, but god, he couldn’t think to get Frank to move. Moving too much already. And Frank’s cock was already hard against his palm, and they were almost moving together, but not quite, all clumsy and gasping and Frank clutched Stephen’s forearm, clinging to it, as his cock throbbed in Stephen’s palm, and Stephen had to bury his face in Frank’s shoulder, stifling his own ragged gasps as he kept moving, just a few more strokes, and he came too.

Frank was panting in his arms, slick with sweat and lube and cum.

Stephen gently dragged his tongue across Frank’s tattoo, catching the taste of sex and salt. 

Frank’s fingers loosened around his forearm and slid down to his hand, still sticky with cum, his fingers tentatively sliding between Stephen’s.

“Your sheets are fucked,” he murmured, his voice thick and sated.

“So’re you.” Stephen buried his face in Frank’s throat, smothering another fit of giggles.

Frank dragged their joined hands up to his mouth and kissed Stephen’s knuckles. “You’re a silly wanker,” he said, the stupid soft affection in his voice making Stephen giggle all the more happily, snuggling against his back. Frank released a long, satisfied sigh. “Wasn’t bad.”

Stephen lifted his head. “Eh?”

“Mm?”

“Whaddya mean ‘wasn’t bad’?” Stephen inquired.

Frank’s lips were twitching. “I’d have to try and again and see. Science, innit? Got to get a comparison.”

Stephen swatted his chest and snuggled against his back. “We’ve got all day, Grayson,” he said, “and I consider that a challenge.”

Frank leaned back into him. “Bugger.”

Stephen nipped his neck. “That too.” He darted his tongue across Frankie’s tattoo again. “Just… not yet, yeah?”

“Mm. Not yet.”

 

________________________________________________

 

It should’ve felt weird.

Gay.

Wrong.

Something. 

But it didn’t.

Frank Grayson had never shagged a bloke before. He’d thought about it. Fuck knew he’d wanked off in his bedroom often enough, but a bloke like Frank Grayson? He was meant to be into tits and skirts and girls. So he’d done what he was meant to do, even managed to get it up, thinking of the blokes he’d fancied in the sports magazines, and getting the job done. At least done enough to stop people asking questions.

That was before Stephen Carmichael crossed his path.

Stephen was bad enough when he was in uniform, but when he was doing his plays and shows, when he was all in tight lycra or hotpants and heels or not much at all, Frank was thinking the wrong kinds of things about the wrong kind of person.

It was fine pretending not to be a fucking bufty when the people you fancied were in magazines, but when you saw the one you fancied in the cafeteria almost every fucking day, and had to see him playing football and dancing and even just fucking laughing with that bird he hung around with, it was harder.

And then…

And then, he’d gone and put himself out there.

He put himself into Stephen’s social circle. He even got the balls to ask him out. And they went out. And they went to the football. And they snogged. And they groped. And they went out more and then…

Getting Stephen to bugger him probably wasn’t what Stephen had expected.

They were still lying together, all tangled up. Stephen had only moved far enough to chuck the johnny in the bin, and Frank had got as far as rolling onto his back, and pushing himself up against the headboard. He hadn’t pulled the sheet over him, even though he still felt like a fucking twat in front of Stephen. 

It wasn’t fair to have a boyfriend who was all warm brown skin and muscles you could bounce coins off and sleek as a fucking cat, especially not when Frank knew he was pasty and had ginger pubes and his gut was all podgy.

Stephen didn’t even seem to notice it.

He sprawled on his side, his chin propped in his hand, and looked up at Frank. “You all right?”

Frank leaned over to get his cider back. He’d barely even touched the stuff. “Yeah,” he said, balancing it on the bed beside him, his hand over the top. He glanced down at Stephen warily. “You?”

“Mm.” Stephen has a dopey grin on his face. “Never got to do that before.”

Frank shifted his weight on the bed. His arse wasn’t as sore as he had expected, but it still was a bit tender to sit on. “Yeah,” he murmured, looking down at his drink. “You said.” He lifted his eyes again. “Not your thing?”

Stephen rolled his eyes and reached out to run his hand over Frank’s belly. “I said I wanted to do it, didn’t I?” he said. His fingertips traced ticklish circles across Frank’s stomach. “Just didn’t think it would be your kind of thing. I mean being… y’know… not on top.”

Frank looked at his first and only choice for a boyfriend. “I’ve got to be on top in every other fucking part of my life,” he said quietly. He reached out and touched Stephen’s cheek. “Just for once, I don’t want to be the fucking one in charge of everything.” He shook his head. “D’you know how fucking knackering that is?”

Stephen tilted his cheek into Frank’s palm, gazing at him with bright dark eyes. “I’m starting to, babes.”

It felt like a great big fucking weight had been lifted away. Everyone else expected him to be such a big, rough bastard. It felt all right to be himself for once. No fists. No yelling. Nothing except the two of them. Not even any fucking clothes or anything.

He wasn’t lying, when he said he trusted Stephen.

It was fucking terrifying how much he trusted him.

After all, Stephen was known for being so out that even other poofs thought he was a bit much, and Frank didn’t believe he’d keep his mouth shut about them for a couple of days, let alone for weeks. The only person who definitely knew was that Chantelle-bird. Stephen had kept his secret, and a lot more than that.

He pulled his hand back, picking up the mug of cider again, and took a mouthful. It was sharp on his tongue.

Stephen looked around the room, then crawled across the bed, stretching over Frank’s body to retrieve the wine bottle from the floor, his arse waving in the air. He glanced back at Frank coyly, as if daring him to stare, and Frank was more than happy to give him the eye.

When he crawled back, bottle in hand, he sprawled along by Frank’s side, draping one leg over Frank’s. His shoulder rested against Frank’s, and he unscrewed the bottle cap, taking a graceless swig from the bottle.

“Classy,” Frank snorted.

“You want me to go and get a glass?” Stephen said, pretending to rise.

Frank caught his wrist and yanked him back. “Don’t you bloody dare.”

Stephen fell back against him, grinning. “Clingy git.”

Frank caught the back of his head, and drew him closer to claim a quick, careful kiss. “I like this,” he said. “Us.”

Stephen’s face broke into a brilliant smile. “Yeah,” he agreed, snuggling against Frank’s side, one hand idly stroking down his chest. “Didn’t think I’d like you as much. You were a bit of a prick.”

“Only a bit?” Frank toyed with Stephen’s hair. “I was working towards ‘fuckin’ bastard’.”

“That too,” Stephen agreed. He took another drink of the wine, and Frank watched the way his lips curved and his throat moved, and fucking hell, he was a lech. 

He looked away self-consciously, back at his own drink, taking another mouthful. Stephen shifted against his side, his leg sliding against Frank’s, and Frank could feel those dark, knowing eyes on his face. 

“Can I ask you something?” Stephen asked.

Frank shrugged, slowly drawing his fingers through Stephen’s curly hair. “S’pose.”

“When did you notice me?”

Frank snorted, tilting his head to look at him. “You’ve been dyin’ to ask that, ain’t ya?”

Stephen shrugged with a small smile. “I was curious,” he said. “You never even spoke to me, and the one time we did speak, I kicked you in the head.” He frowned. “Unless it was then, because that is _so_ awkward.”

Frank flushed, relieved that it wasn’t. What a fucking mess he would have been if he got turned on by being smacked around. It would’ve been like history repeating all over again, and he didn’t want to believe he was that fucked up.

“S’after that school election bollocks,” he said. 

He still remembered that night. It was fucking terrifying and fucking incredible at the same time, realising that he could actually fancy someone who was right in front of him. He’d felt like such a fucking creepy pervert, but no one had noticed, or if they did, they must’ve just thought he was looking at his next fucking target.

Stephen’s nose wrinkled. “The election? What was so special about that?”

Frank leaned over and set down the mug on the chest of drawers by the bed. If he kept a hold of it, he would just drink the lot and when he got wasted, he got quiet and wouldn’t say anything. Stephen wanted to speak to him, so he was going to fucking try and speak.

He leaned back against the headboard again and looked up at the ceiling. “You was dancing,” he said. He remembered it so fucking clear. He’d seen Stephen dancing in all his shows and shit, but he was always in costumes and dressed up and in make-up. He’d never seen him just dancing as him. “Y’had your shirt undone, and you was laughing.”

“Oh.” It was said so quietly that he had to look at Stephen to see if he was upset or pissed off that Frank had only noticed him then.

Stephen, though, was looking at him with a different look in his, almost like appreciation.

“You saw me,” he said quietly.

Frank scratched distractedly at his belly. “You looked so fucking happy,” he said. “I’d never seen you smile before.”

He didn’t get a chance to say anything more, because Stephen set down the wine bottle, leaned up and kissed him, his hand curling around the back of Frank’s neck. It wasn’t like they hadn’t snogged before, but it felt different, like Stephen really wanted to be kissing him, and he wasn’t about to complain.

Stephen crawled up the bed, flinging one leg over Frank’s hips and practically fucking mounting him, as he pressed him back against the headboard, his tongue darting teasingly against Frank’s as his hands splayed on Frank’s chest.

Frank pressed his hands to Stephen’s thighs, so close to his hips on either side, and dragged his palms up them. He could feel the muscle tight under the skin, and fucking hell, Stephen made it worse by tensing them and rolling his whole fucking body like a wave against him.

He broke away from the kiss, panting, his head pressed against the headboard.

“D’I say something?” he demanded, breathless.

Stephen was tracing his fingertips around Frank’s nipples, and he nibbled on his lower lip, his eyes down. “You didn’t just say I was pretty,” he said. “It’s all I usually get: nice arse, good body, firm arms, all that stuff.”

Frank’s hands froze where they were, fondling Stephen’s thighs. “Yeah?”

Stephen looked down with a giggle. “I think you can be excused. As long as you didn’t notice them first.”

Frank shook his head. “All in the laugh,” he remembered. He’d seen Stephen around, and he’d thought he was all right, but nothing special, and then the bastard had laughed, and his whole face lit up, eyes, smile, everything, and Frank had wanted him right fucking there and then.

Stephen kissed him again, and that’s all it was. Just the two of them kissing and touching each other, as if they had all the fucking time in the world. 

Frank’d never been around anyone who he wanted to shag more than once. He’d never really needed to worry about getting it up again, and based on past experience, he had a feeling it’d be a while before he was ready to do anything more than just fondle Stephen all over, but Stephen didn’t seem to mind.

His lips felt all warm and swollen when Stephen started kissing his way down Frank’s neck instead. His body was still slowly rocking, and Frank’s hands had ended up playing down across his back and squeezing his arse.

“Like your hands,” Stephen breathed, rocking his hips back against them. 

Frank’s mouth was dry, and Stephen’s arse fitted so neatly against his palms. He curved his fingers down the crack of Stephen’s arse, and that didn’t fucking help. He swallowed hard, as Stephen lifted his head, his dark eyes gleaming.

“You want to try that?” he offered, “when you’re up for it?”

The thought of it made him knock his head back against the headboard with a quiet groan. The thought of being in Stephen, actually inside him, fucking him like he’d been fucked by him, made his cock twitch.

Stephen’s teeth closed lightly on his throat, squeezing and releasing. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he purred.

“Fuck, yes!” Frank gasped out, kneading at Stephen’s arse with both hands.

To his surprise, Stephen reached back and caught his wrists, drawing his hands away. He was smiling in a dark, wicked way that made the bottom of Frank’s stomach clench and his cock was stirring already.

“Stay very still,” he murmured, “or I’ll stop.”

“Stop what?” Frank croaked.

Stephen winked, then starting kissing and biting and licking his way down Frank’s body.

Frank bit back a curse, his hands itching to reach out and clutch at Stephen, especially when his mouth teased lower across Frank’s belly, his tongue darting out to delve into Frank’s navel, then biting the softer part of Frank’s belly.

“Stephen,” he growled, his hands clawing helplessly at the air.

Dark eyes, liquid and fucking beautiful looked up at him, and Frank’s head smacked back against the headboard when Stephen took his cock in his mouth.

It wasn’t a big surprise that Stephen knew what he was doing. His tongue was as quick as his dancing feet, and Frank was pounding his fists helplessly on his own hips, his breathing ragged, as Stephen’s mouth and hands got him hard all over again.

When Stephen lifted his head, his mouth was pink. “Good boy, Frankie,” he whispered. “Staying so still for me.” He crawled back up and pressed his mouth to Frank’s again, and Frank could taste salt, and fuck, he wanted to have him and keep him all for himself.

“Can I?” he asked breathlessly.

Stephen nodded, laying one hand on Frank’s shoulder and arching back to grab one of the packets of condoms from further up the bed. Every muscle was there, laid out like a fucking picnic, and Frank couldn’t help dragging one hand from Stephen’s sternum all the way down to his cock.

Stephen drew himself back up, smiling like a fucking cat, and opened the condom wrapper. He closed his hand around Frank’s cock, making his hips jerk again, and stroked him once, twice more, before rolling the johnny on like a master.

Frank’s mouth felt dry as a bone. “Which way?” he managed to ask, his voice cracking like a kid’s.

Stephen’s eyes danced. “You’ll see,” he said.

He leaned down over the side of the bed, recovering the lube, and squeezed out some into his palm, rubbing his hands together. He wrapped each hand around Frank’s cock in long, steady strokes that made Frank bite his tongue so fucking hard he almost drew blood. And Stephen made it so much worse by looking down at his handiwork, then raising his eyes to Frank, his smile the filthiest thing Frank had ever seen on a man’s face. 

“I think you’re ready, yeah, babes?”

Frank’s fingers were twisted into the sheets on either side of him. “God, yeah.”

Stephen rose on his knees, and crawled up the bed, bracing his hands on either side of Frank’s head. Frank’s heart was pounding so fucking hard he could feel it against his ribs, right down to his cock, as Stephen rocked his hips lower and lower and fucking hell…

Dark eyes held his. “This way good for you?

Frank’s hands moved of their own free will, sliding along Stephen’s taut thighs. “Yeah,” he rasped. “Good.”

Stephen leaned close enough to nip Frank’s lower lip. “You’ll have to let yourself in,” he said, his face a mask of mischief. 

Frank nodded, his hand shaking like a fucking nonce’s as he reached down between their bodies, his prick rubbing right against Stephen’s crack. His fingers got slick with lube, and he took a gulping breath as he rubbed the head of his prick against Stephen’s arsehole.

Stephen’s eyes pressed closed, a fucking beautiful grin on his face, and he nodded. “Yeah. Right there,” he whispered and he sank down, and Frank felt like a huge fucking hand was squeezing his chest, struggling for breath as Stephen’s body was wrapped around him, and he almost came right there and then. 

He clung to Stephen’s thighs, panting, his head pressing back against the headboard again. 

Lips brushed his neck, and Stephen whispered, softly, gently, “Just breathe, love.”

“Tight,” Frank managed to breathe out. It was nothing like having a fist wrapped around your cock, nothing at all. 

Stephen rocked his hips slowly up and down, making Frank groan and grab at his hips. “We’re not in a porno, babes,” he whispered playfully. “But thanks for the compliment.”

Frank forced his eyes open, looking up at Stephen, and reached up to drag his head down, kissing him. It was clumsy and he was panting, but Stephen smiled against his lips, then squeaked when Frank’s other hand closed around his cock.

One of Stephen’s hands dropped to clutch at his shoulder, and Frank’s eyes were closed and all he knew was Stephen’s mouth on his, his tongue sliding against Frank’s, Stephen’s body moving against his and making his cock throb like it was about to fucking explode, and the swelling hard heat of Stephen’s cock in his hand. His head was spinning and he felt like he was lost in too many fucking sensations.

Stephen moved like a fucking snake, his whole body writhing, and he was making the most fucking beautiful little noises against Frank’s mouth, small, sharp, desperate, and his fingers were scratching at Frank’s shoulders, and his knees were pressing to Frank’s ribs, squeezing like Stephen was riding him like a fucking racehorse.

Frank wrenched his mouth from Stephen’s, gasping too hard, and pulled Stephen’s brow to rest against his. He forced his eyes open, staring up at Stephen, his hand tightening on Stephen’s cock, stroking twice for every press of Stephen’s hips down against him, and fuck, he wanted to see the look on his face when the silly wanker came. He wanted to see how he looked, and Stephen’s other hand was on his other shoulder, and he was panting as hard as Frank was, his eyes fixed on Frank’s, his lips trembling.

Frank’s tongue dragged along his bottom lip. Felt dry. Felt rough.

He didn’t know why he said it. He wasn’t a talker during sex. But he whispered, “You are so fucking beautiful right now.”

And Stephen, flushed and beaming, keened tightly, his back arching, and his cock throbbed in Frank’s hand. Cum spattered across Frank’s stomach and Stephen’s body stuttered over his, his hips jerking and twisting and his arsehole clenching so fucking tight that Frank swore as his orgasm hit him too. 

Even though Stephen’s hands were braced on Frank’s shoulders, he couldn’t seem to hold himself upright and sagged forward over Frank’s body, his head knocking down against Frank’s shoulder. His breath came in hot gusts against Frank’s sweat-damp chest, and mutely, Frank wrapped his trembling arms around him.

He had no fucking clue how long they just clung to each other like that. Stephen only lifted his hips enough to let Frank’s cock slide free, then sank back down over him, as his breathing evened out.

He drew his fingers down Stephen’s back over and over, and smiled unsteadily when he felt the delicate lick of Stephen’s tongue, just below his collarbone.

“For science?” Stephen whispered.

“Yeah,” Frank murmured, his eyes closed lightly. He traced a circle on Stephen’s back. “I’m a great student of science. Very hard… working.”

Stephen started giggling and lifted his head, looking down at Frank. There was something softer about his expression, and he brought up one hand to stroke Frank’s cheeks. “You’re a surprise is what you are, Mr Grayson.” He kissed Frank lightly. “Full of surprises.”

Frank shrugged, lowering his eyes. “Just me.”

Stephen kissed him again, softly. “And I’m the only one who sees it,” he said.

Frank glanced up at him, uncertain. “That’s all right, innit?” He looked down again, flushing. “I ain’t bothered if people know, y’know…”

“But you’re not ready for them to know, yeah?”

Frank looked up gratefully. “Yeah,” he whispered. 

Stephen nuzzled the tip of his nose. “Don’t you worry,” he murmured. “I’m a selfish brat. I want to keep you all for myself.”

Frank was smiling. He knew he was, like a sentimental cock. He dragged his hand back up the length of Stephen’s back and pulled his head down to kiss him again. “Thank you,” he whispered against Stephen’s lips.


End file.
